A Good Beer Blog

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Have you read The Unbearable Nonsense of Craft Beer - A Rant in Nine Acts by Alan and Max yet? It's out on Kindle as well as Lulu.

Maureen Ogle said this about the book: "... immensely readable, sometimes slightly surreal rumination on beer in general and craft beer in particular. Funny, witty, but most important: Smart. The beer geeks will likely get all cranky about it, but Alan and Max are the masters of cranky..."

Ron Pattinson said: "I'm in a rather odd situation. Because I appear in the book. A fictional version of me. It's a weird feeling."


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Michael griffith -

[Ed.: This entry is problematic in that it appears to be a blindingly clear case of plagiary - Mike taking from Barry. Yet maybe it is not. Can Mike or Barry clarify please:]<blockquote class="smalltext"><b>An introduction to the bar</b><p>

<i>If you stay here for a decade they’ll give you a corner
Or if the corners are taken,
A stool.

You’ll have to wait of course for an endearing Bar girl,
when you’re in the loo or coming in late,
To tell another punter ‘yr can’t sit there mate,
That’s Old Mick’s stool.’

And the others’ll laugh as they recant his pissed off face
And you’ll realise,
in private,
As yr parking yr bum,
That there’s a sad and proud beauty
to finally being found.

So now,
Posteriorly secured,
why not introduce us to the boys ;
Well that’s young Ian, you’ll say between swigs,
He’s got brains that one, and was almost something,
before he unfortunately developed a taste for the piss.

Then his neighbour’s Fred, and Fred doesn’t talk much.
Except to stipulate a guinness for each third drink.
He ran over a kid, while drunk, oh, twenty years ago,
And although the judge let him off, he, himself, never did.
And last there’s stumpy by the door
Who’s now on wife number three,
Because the others found him so fatally boring
One become a nutcase, and the other one died.

Even his third wife is having a fling with this small Spanish bloke
down at the RSL.
Stumpy knows, but doesn’t care, he says ‘she’s only in it for the sex’
Yah see Stump’s old fella doesn’t work. He reckons it’s missin’ his leg.

Last week he invested in that new Viagra pill ,
Reckons it got him so hard, he thought the bloody thing ‘ld crack,
So he splashed on the spice and all ready to go
Found she’d downed three cerapax.

For all his vigorous shaking
She remained out like a light
And snored right through him straining
Both her plastic hips.

But we’re digressing from the bar,
Where, from atop your freshest perch,
You’ll join with the others to rip apart this life.

We’re a small clone of America!
England’s test teams up the shit!
And if the Ozone hole tears any fucken further
We won’t need a nuke to barbecue the planet .

And then there’s the bloody boongs, and the bloody wogs,
And these fucking crippling Haemorrhoids
And everybody’ll laugh.
As you lift up out of your seat.

Then, more confident, you’ll tell them how your useless doctor
Won’t listen when yah tell him
That your legs are always burning.

That’s what I had says Stumpy
And since they couldn’t find a pill
They marked a line across me knee and cut the bottom half off.

And you’ll wince, but this is good,
For there’s solace in the whinging,
and medicine in the beer
and tribes made out of marginalised men
can wrap a buffer around themselves
from laughter, memories and complaints
that can almost keep the loneliness out.

So sit back mate and buy another pot,
For all the young men coming in at night
To play their pool, and buy their jugs
While arguing the worth of different bourbons.

Then raise another high for all the straight up maids
Whose feet have trod the vinyl and the spillage,
To flatter you, sporadically,
With the odd gem of a conversation.
And then buy yourself a third for all those dwindling seasons
Who, with the spin, have passed by those dusty windows,
That you always said one day you’d clean,
But have since been scribbled on by children.

Michael
29 May 1998
Mosman Park.</i></blockquote>

Steve Beauchesne -

Hey Greg, this poem is adapted from a song I wrote back in my rock 'n roll days...

When I think about the things that piss me off
And I got that thing
_____________________dragging
_______________________________me
____________________________________down…

I don’t need to lose my cool, or lose my sleep,
I just go down to the local pub, and

I have a beer.

And when things they go my way,
When I win the game and save the day

I have a beer.

Yeah, I know how to pat my self on the back
And I know how to sit back and relax

I have a beer.

When I’m feeling bad, when I need a pick-me-up,
When I’m feeling really tired or I wanna get messed up

I have a beer.

So I say skol and the glasses clink
So I says this toast, it goes out to my drink, and

I have a beer.

Steve Beauchesne -

Whoops...sorry Alan. I had just been on Greg Clow's site.

Michael griffith -

And its not plagiarized mate. I wrote it a few years back and at the moment its on you tube with a film i took of Barry.

go to my site and you'll find a load of my poems. Sorry if its so good you think it's stolen.

threeminutes10.com

more poems at threeminutes10/blog

Michael Griffith

Alan -

No I thought it <i>was</i> Barry's. You have cleared that up nicely.

Wil -

Poets must have a hard time writing HAIKU'S